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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27749800">the price that you pay (for arrogance and a false sense of immunity)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatoliasw/pseuds/gatoliasw'>gatoliasw</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Also Tubbo Is There Later, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dadza, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Found Family, Gen, Past trauma (mentioned), just happy family things, seriously the angst is a lot, sleepy bois inc - Freeform, there will not be a happy ending im warning you now</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:34:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,183</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27749800</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatoliasw/pseuds/gatoliasw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil had been alone for too long. The current streak of no other human interaction was five years, and was rapidly approaching six. As he stepped through the portal, he silently hoped to encounter a piglin or two, if only to do a bit of trading. They weren't human, and they didn't understand his words, but at least it was something. He always entered the Nether with as little expectations as possible. All he needed today was a bit of quartz. A quick get in, get out job. </p>
<p>He never expected to find a kid.</p>
<p>A Sleepy Bois Inc. origins fic<br/>title from community gardens by the scary jokes</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>No Romantic Relationship(s), They're a family your honor - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>103</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the price that you pay (for arrogance and a false sense of immunity)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is literally the most cringe thing i've ever done but its 2020 and cringe culture is dead so im gonna sit here and write minecraft fanfiction<br/>im a sucker for the dynamic of sbi and i haven't written things in ages and i miss it so here i am<br/>a lot of this is just shit i pulled out of my ass because i like making my characters suffer and i think it adds to the experience when it makes you sad<br/>each of the boys is gonna get their own chapter from their perspective, plus some slice of life chapters as well. something like seven or eight chapters total<br/>enjoy, leave comments, all that good stuff :)<br/>wilbur soot ruined my fucking plans by confirming techno wilbur twins :( so disregard that bit of canon because i said so</p>
<p>CHAPTER ORDER: technoblade, wilbur, tommy, family chapter, phil, family chapter, and another family chapter</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Technoblade’s earliest memory was maniacal laughter. The horrified expressions of people who had claimed to love him went hand in hand with it. The new loudness, the pain in his arms, the tiny tusks replacing his bottom canines, the anxious pit in his stomach. The sudden loneliness as he watched his parents run away, leaving him alone on the step of the cleric’s door. He was five.</p>
<p>The next memory was him on a cold floor on his hands and knees. His clothes and hands were covered in some bodily fluid. His eyesight was tinted red, blood boiling, chest heaving. The two bodies in front of him were motionless, limbs torn to shreds and body bruised. He could hear yelling outside and saw the face of a woman through the window, who screamed and promptly fainted. He had glanced around, grabbing a pack one of the men now laying on the floor had left, quickly rooting through it. He had thrown out things he didn’t need, keeping the stone pickaxe and few pieces of bread. He had turned tail and sprinted away from the town as fast as he could, heading for the only place he knew he might blend in. He could hear the authorities running after him as he crossed through the portal, the purple jelly enveloping him and heat surrounding him as he shut his eyes and breathed through his nose. He was five.</p>
<p>Things got fuzzy after that. He could remember bits and pieces of his early times here but nothing in full detail. He could remember the feeling of pride the first time he killed a hoglin on his own (it was a baby, but the point still stands). It had been stalking him for days, standing at the base of his temporary fort, waiting for him to try and come down. Technoblade spent those days crafting shoddy arrows and a pretty terrible bow. The arrows, he figured, didn’t have to be well made. They just had to be sharp. And he was good at that. That young hoglin hadn’t given him much meat but it had been enough to tide him over. He did, however, take its skull as a prize. He cleaned it off, bleaching it the best he could in his barren surroundings. It sat on a shelf in the small home he had made for himself in the wall of the Nether for weeks. Technoblade liked to sit and admire it; a shining example of his superiority over his environment. It seemed to be just the right size for his head, too. He lifted it carefully off its haphazard pedestal and fit it to his face. He’d have to find a way to keep it on, and would need to carve out the eyes a bit so he could still see, but other than that it was perfect. A constant reminder that this hell would not best him.</p>
<p>His second most prized possession was a lopsided, crudely made crown he’d crafted for himself from the gold nuggets that littered the walls of his small home. It wasn’t pretty by any standard, but it was sharp and it was his. </p>
<p>Technoblade didn’t know how long he had been here. There were no days in the nether; the roof kept out all light and normal beds caught fire from the heat. Clocks ran wrong, the minute hand speeding and slowing in fits. He knew the date of the day he’d ran, though. If he ever got out of here he could find out how many years he’d survived on his own. He proved to himself every day he didn’t need anyone to help him. He was alone and he was better off for it. There was no one here to judge him for the way he looked and the “people” who inhabited this dimension looked similar enough to himself to not raise suspicions. </p>
<p>He had discovered that those other inhabitants were extremely partial to gold ingots about halfway through his stay in the Nether. Partial enough to trade him for materials on a good day and trash on a bad day. His odds were never really great but it was a resource in a pinch. It’d saved his life enough times where he’d learned not to take it for granted. It was the only interaction he’d had in… however long he’d been here and he’d never admit it but he was grateful for it. He might be mildly insane, but he wasn’t quite uncivilized. </p>
<p>Not yet, at least.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Today, he was hiding out in a makeshift fort he’d built in one of the big red mushrooms that grew in this biome. He was waiting for a hoglin to come by so he could stock up on meat for the next few weeks. His skull mask sat on the ledge next to him, shining against the blood-red floor, and the gold crown next to that. His right ear twitched, picking up the low grunts of a hoglin nearby. He crept to the edge of his ledge, craning to see hoofprints in the soft ground. A loud squeal rang out in the quiet air and Technoblade jumped. Something had hurt his prey. Badly, it sounded like.</p>
<p>Another squeal. And a yell. A very <em> human </em>sounding yell. Technoblade froze. Had his village found him? How did they know where he was? Did he have to run again? </p>
<p>One last squeal from the hoglin, and silence. Technoblade heard light footsteps making their way towards him, and squeezed himself in the corner of his fort, completely obscured by the flesh of the mushroom. He quieted his breathing, his fingers twitching against the handle of his sword. The footsteps passed by his mushroom and continued to the wall on the other side. He heard the quiet <em> thump </em> of a pickaxe against the floor and peaked through the gap in the wall of the mushroom towards the sound. A figure was hunched over, mining at a patch of quartz in the ground. Definitely not anyone from his village, then. The stranger had a green and white hat, green pants, and a gray cape. The most interesting thing about it, though, was the wings on its back. They were folded neatly in on each other, shimmering slightly in the odd light. They looked unnatural. No feathers. The material looked almost leather-like, not quite like a bat’s wings but similar enough. Technoblade shifted in place, sitting up to get a better look. </p>
<p>And then the skull slipped off his perch. The stranger whipped around, looking around for the source of the noise. Technoblade got a better look at his face and confirmed that this was, in fact, a man. An overworld dweller. They visited the Nether every so often, robbing Technoblade’s sweltering home of its natural resources and ducking back into their world before anything could hurt them. Technoblade hated them. The stranger spotted the skull, the white bone standing out against the red ground. He followed the line of sight up to Technoblade’s hiding spot and met his eyes. </p>
<p>“Hello?” the winged man called out in an unfamiliar accent. Technoblade ducked and scolded himself silently. His cover was blown. If this was any other creature he’d be dead. There was no getting out of this (unless he pulled some wild stunt, which he didn't really have the energy or brain power for right now). </p>
<p>“I saw you hiding,” the man said. “I’m not gonna hurt you unless you hurt me.” </p>
<p>Technoblade took a breath and peeked back over the gap in the mushroom. The man had stepped closer, but had put away his pickaxe and had his hands raised in surrender. He squinted up at Technoblade, curiosity obvious in his eyes. </p>
<p>“Who are you? You’re not a piglin, that much is obvious. You…” he paused, a look of pity washing over his face. Technoblade scowled. Pity was a weakness. “Oh my god. You’re a kid!” </p>
<p>Technoblade blinked. <em> A kid? </em> </p>
<p>“You’re just a kid, oh my god. What are you doing out here alone? You can’t be more than twelve.” The man dropped his pack and moved under the mushroom, holding his hand up to him, too close for comfort. “Come down, kid. I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise.” </p>
<p>Technoblade snarled, gripping his sword with white knuckles. His hands shook. </p>
<p>“It’s okay, kid. Just come down from there, please.” </p>
<p>Technoblade moved farther away, pushing against the soft wall of the mushroom. The man looked back at the skull on the ground and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. He met Technoblade’s eyes again, holding the skull out to him. </p>
<p>“I think this is yours?” </p>
<p>Technoblade nodded, against his better judgement. The man tossed the skull up to him and Technoblade caught it, clutching it close to his chest. The two of them sat in silence for a minute, listening to the quiet hum of the thick air surrounding them. The man spoke again, breaking the quiet. </p>
<p>“I can get you a better sword, you know.” he said. Techno’s left ear perked up in interest. His golden sword was nearly broken and he constantly had to make new ones, which took far too long for what they were worth. This stranger could be tricking him, though, just to get him to come down where he had no advantage anymore. So, he waited, unmoving. </p>
<p>The man considered the sword Technoblade had clutched to his chest. “That one is well made, though, did you do that yourself?” Technoblade’s chest bloomed with pride. He nodded slowly. </p>
<p>“You can keep that one until I can get you your own. As long as you don’t stab me with it.” Technoblade didn’t move. The man sighed. “I’m not leaving here until you come with me.”</p>
<p>Neither of them broke. They stood there, waiting for the other to give in for what felt like hours, and it might as well have been. The man had sat against the trunk of the mushroom, fiddling with the things in his pack. He pulled out a loaf of bread, breaking off a piece and eating it slowly, drawing patterns in the soil with his other hand. Technoblade’s stomach growled loudly. The man looked up at him, breaking off half the loaf and holding it up to him. Technoblade watched himself reach out for the bread and grab it, curling back into himself and sniffing it suspiciously. His mouth watered. </p>
<p>“It’s not poisoned,” the man said, not looking up from his own bread. “I wouldn’t poison my own supply of food.” </p>
<p>Technoblade grunted, hoping the man understood his thanks, and took a small bite of the bread. </p>
<p>It was the best thing he’d tasted in years. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and he sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. The man looked up at him through sad eyes. </p>
<p>“By the way, my name’s Phil. I don’t remember if I’d mentioned.” He took another bite of the bread. “I can get you more bread if you come back to the overworld with me, you know. All the bread you want.” </p>
<p>Technoblade’s mouth watered. </p>
<p>“I can get you cake, too. If that’s something you like. I’ve got too much food back home.”  </p>
<p>Technoblade considered his options. He could stay here, in this mushroom fort, until <em> Phil </em> got bored and left, and then he’d be on his own again, fending for himself and trying not to die. He’d go back to being the only mildly intelligent being within miles with nothing to take up his time but killing and crafting. Back to passing days or years in this rotten, fiery hellscape. Or.</p>
<p>Or.</p>
<p>Or he could return to the overworld with Phil. Phil, who seemed to genuinely care about his safety. Phil, who gave Technoblade his own food with no hesitation. Who offered him a new sword. Who gave him his skull back. Who said nothing about his ears or his tusks. Who spoke of <em> home </em>. Technoblade didn’t remember much about the overworld, but he knew he’d be safe there. Nothing trying to kill him. No lava waterfalls. No ghasts. No blaze. </p>
<p>No hoglins. </p>
<p>There was nothing keeping him here. He had nothing here, and up until now the only reason he hadn’t left was that he had less than nothing out <em> there </em>. He had nothing to lose by going with Phil. His life wasn’t worth much here, anyways. It was only a matter of time before he miscalculated and something took advantage and killed him. Even on his own (if he needed to), he could survive longer in the overworld. He took a breath, finishing the last of the bread in his hand. Phil looked up, watching him shift closer to the trunk. He stayed quiet and still, waiting for Technoblade to make it all the way down before slowly standing, brushing the soil off his pants, and slinging his pack over his shoulders. Technoblade shrunk in on himself, hugging his few belongings closer to his chest.</p>
<p>“I can hold those for you, if you want,” Phil offered. “Keep the sword, but if you want to put the skull and the crown in my bag, you’re welcome to.” </p>
<p>Technoblade paused, then handed the crown to the man, who held it gingerly and carefully placed in his pack. Like it meant something to him. Technoblade made a mental note of Phil’s care. He wouldn’t pass judgement on this stranger yet.</p>
<p>Phil straightened up, flattening the wings on his back and looking down at Technoblade. “Do you have anything else to grab before we go? Anything important you’d miss?” </p>
<p>Technoblade shook his head. He had all he needed.</p>
<p>“Well then,” Phil said, giving the boy a soft smile. “Let’s get you home, shall we?”</p>
<p>Technoblade’s heart leapt. <em> Home </em>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He followed Phil through the festering terrain, holding himself up tall and imposing as best as he could. His golden sword sat in his belt and he had replaced the skull mask on his head. Phil had offered his hand many times as they trudged through the wastes, and Technoblade refused every time. They had been walking for what felt like miles, following the false north Phil’s compass was trained on. Technoblade knew where north was here. It was not the way they were going. To say he was wary would be an understatement. He hadn’t killed (or needed to kill) a human in quite a few years, but if the man proved to be a danger, he was fully prepared to run him through.</p>
<p>Soon enough, the two of them passed through a biome Technoblade had never seen before. He stayed in the biomes he knew: red wastelands and red mushroom forests. There was an abundance of materials and food in both, and very few of the more dangerous mobs. This biome was a surprise, though. The soil beneath Technoblade’s boots was an odd blue color. The mushroom trees here grew the same as the ones he knew, but these were blue. And there were no piglins here, either. Just the occasional enderman and the far off cry of a ghast. Phil seemed unfazed, which made sense, as he would’ve had to pass through here on his way to Technoblade anyways. </p>
<p>Technoblade stopped to pick up a small mushroom peaking up out of the soil, peering at the orange spots on the cap. It seemed that this biome and the one he was used to mirrored each other, one blue and one red. He hummed, picking the mushroom and carefully placing it in his pocket. He stood, brushing his hands off and looking around. He froze.</p>
<p>Phil had disappeared. </p>
<p>Technoblade’s stomach dropped. There were two things that could've happened: one, Phil was killed by something and somehow died silently, or two, he'd walked off with Technoblade, leaving him behind in the Nether. He had trusted Phil. Phil had his crown. His throat felt tight. <em> Abandoned </em> , he thought, <em> once again </em>. He looked down at his feet and kicked the blue soil. What had he expected, really? He'd been alone for this long. Maybe he'd finally cracked and he'd hallucinated the man. Maybe he was finally too far gone. No one was coming for him. He'd been alone for this long, what's another decade or two? What did it matter? No one would-</p>
<p>"Kid! Thank god, you're alright." </p>
<p>Technoblade whipped around. Phil was standing a few yards from him, panting. <em> He'd come back </em>. </p>
<p>"I thought you were still behind me, and then I thought I'd lost you. Don't stop like that, you scared the hell out of me," Phil said, motioning to Technoblade to follow him. "Come on, kid, we're almost back to the portal." </p>
<p>Technoblade followed behind him, swallowing the small lump in his throat. Okay, he hadn’t hallucinated the man. Everything was fine. Maybe everything would work out. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The two of them approached the portal, the surface rippling and swirling, purple sparks flaking off it at the edges. Technoblade had seen only a few in his life but the frame and the whooshing was distinct. Phil paused, checking his pack to make sure he had everything in order, then held out his hand to the boy. Technoblade looked at the portal, his stomach flipping. This was it. He looked back at Phil, who still held his hand out. Technoblade took a deep breath, gripping his sword tight against his hip, and took the man’s hand. </p>
<p>“You ready, kid?” </p>
<p>Technoblade nodded. The two of them stepped through at the same time, the jelly-like surface sucking them in and enveloping them in an odd warmth. Technoblade felt his stomach drop out and could hear his blood pounding in his ears and his vision faded to purple. He squeezed his eyes shut, barely registering that he had a death grip on Phil’s hand. His head spun and his legs wobbled and his lunged burned and he felt like he was about to die and-</p>
<p>And then he was stumbling forward onto soft ground.</p>
<p>He let himself fall to his hands and knees and gasped, panting. He let himself lower his heat rate, focusing on his breathing, before sitting back on his heels and slowly opening his eyes, blinking at his surroundings.</p>
<p>He had never seen more green in his life. </p>
<p>Or at least, that he could remember. </p>
<p>It was impossibly bright. Everything seemed to be shining, and he squinted as he looked around. He felt the soil beneath his hands, running his fingers through the grass. <em> Grass </em> , he thought. <em> Real, actual grass </em>. He looked up at the sky, mouth falling open in awe. There was a sky. No more ceiling above him. No more thick fog hanging in the air, restricting his view. Just an endless sky above him and a bright, colorful, clean world around him. Phil watched him take in his new surroundings, starting down the path ahead of them.</p>
<p>“Are you good to walk a bit further?” he called. “The house is just up ahead, I don’t want to be out here when it gets dark.”</p>
<p>Technoblade’s eyes widened in fear. Phil looked apologetic.</p>
<p>“No, no, don’t worry, it’s safe, the whole area is lit up, no monsters show up here. I just haven’t slept in a while and it’s harder to see the path at night.” he explained. Technoblade knew some part of his explanation was a lie but he didn’t push it. He pulled himself up and brushed the dirt off his pants, following behind Phil. He watched the trees sway in the breeze he hadn’t felt in years, waving and welcoming him back to the world where he belonged. He breathed in the warm spring air, feeling the shift in the wind. New beginnings. The end of something important. A renewal. </p>
<p>Technoblade didn’t look back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A week into Technoblade’s new life, Phil sat him down at the kitchen table and asked if he could read. </p>
<p>He’d settled more than he’d expected to into his new surroundings. He’d stopped wearing the skull and crown and felt safe enough to leave his gold sword in a separate room. He was still jumpy and quite skittish, which was expected when he’d been in constant danger for six years (he’d learned the date a few days ago and had to spend the rest of the day alone, processing it) and then suddenly not being in danger at all. Phil had asked if he wanted his hair cut or pulled out of his face and he’d hid under the couch for an hour. It was an uphill battle to settle down.</p>
<p>Technoblade nodded. He’d been taught to read younger than most and kept up with it a little while he was in the Nether. Phil followed the question with another and asked Technoblade if he could write. He nodded again. He had carved words into the walls of his little cave and sometimes into his blades. Phil let out a relieved sigh and slid a pencil and paper over the table to him.</p>
<p>“I can’t just keep calling you ‘kid’. If you can write your name here so I can call you by your actual name, that’d be really helpful.” Phil explained. </p>
<p>Technoblade stared down at the paper, determined. It was the least he could do for the man who’d been housing him out of kindness to tell him his actual name. He picked up the pencil and, as neatly as he could (which wasn’t saying much), he wrote ‘technoblade’. </p>
<p>Phil leaned over and read the word, blinked a few times, and looked at the boy, watching his face for any semblance of an emotion. Finding nothing but sincerity, he nodded and took the paper, tacking it up on the wall. He looked back at the boy, still seated cross-legged at the table, gripping the pencil in his fist. </p>
<p>“Technoblade, huh?”</p>
<p>Technoblade’s heart leapt and a chill ran down his arms. <em> Someone knew him </em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Technoblade spent the next few months cleaning up his literacy. He picked it up quickly, jumping from the reading level of a five-year-old to a teen in that time. It impressed Phil, which was one of his main motivators. He still didn’t speak, though, outside of non-verbal responses (hums and the like).</p>
<p>They’d been working on more reading that day, when Phil pulled the book down and away from Technoblade’s face. He smiled softly. </p>
<p>“Techno,” he asked. “Can you read this from here?” The book was barely pulled away, maybe two feet from Technoblade’s nose. He squinted at the words, barely registering that they were, in fact, words. He blinked slowly, looking back up at Phil. Phil hummed. </p>
<p>“That’s what I thought. I’m gonna go out tomorrow, okay? I’m getting some supplies and we’re gonna make you some glasses. You’re like, legally blind, kid.” </p>
<p>And so they did. Phil experimented with thickness and layers, standing farther and farther away and holding up fingers and making Technoblade tell him how many. It took three days to find the sweet spot between painfully focused and blurry and when Phil handed him the final pair, he slipped them on and looked around and felt a lump in his throat. He stood and stared at the trees, watching the leaves move individually from each other. They were <em> clear </em>. The edges were crisp. He turned back to the house, following the clean line of the frame with his eyes. He’d gone so long thinking the world was just fuzzy. </p>
<p>The next morning at breakfast he croaked out a quiet “thank you” in between careful mouthfuls of omelet and listened as Phil choked on his food. He looked up and met Phil’s very teary eyes. The man sniffed and wiped his eyes with his shirt sleeve, clearing his throat. </p>
<p>“You’re very welcome, Technoblade.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Seven months in, Phil approached him in the field by the house. Technoblade was laying down, staring at the sky, watching the birds swoop through the breeze. His hands twitched, itching to grab them out of the air. This was a relatively good day for him. He was calm, mostly level-headed. </p>
<p>He’d had a lot of worse days recently. Two weeks ago, in the middle of the night, he’d slaughtered a cow with his new sword (Phil kept his promise and had gotten Technoblade an iron sword about a month and a half before) without realizing and had nearly killed Phil when he came to stop him from killing another. Phil had tackled him to the ground, wrenching the sword out of his grasp by the blade, giving him quite a deep slice on his palm. He had sat behind him, pinning his arms to his sides and reassuring him that he was safe and there was no danger here. Technoblade writhed in his hold, trying his hardest to get away, yelling and crying. He eventually wore himself out, passing out in Phil’s arms and waking up the next morning in his bed with Phil asleep in the chair across the room. He felt bad, obviously. He couldn’t quite remember what’d happened, but he had a vague idea. </p>
<p>“Techno,” Phil said, breaking the silence. “Would you like to learn to fight?”</p>
<p>Technoblade turned towards the man. “I know how to fight.” he said, confused.</p>
<p>Phil shook his head. “No, you know how to kill. Would you like me to teach you to fight?”</p>
<p>Technoblade was quiet for a moment. </p>
<p>“I ask, Techno, because I think it could help with your… how do I phrase this kindly…” Phil sighed, searching for the right words. “Your, uh, losing-control-and-going-feral problem. Your bloodlust, as it were.”</p>
<p>Technoblade sat up and gave him a soft smile. “I guess,” he replied. “If you think it’d be useful.” </p>
<p>“I do. For your own sake, Techno. If you don’t want to, I won’t push it.” Phil said, and Technoblade could hear the attempted reassurance in his voice. “I would also just like to stop worrying that you’re gonna snap one day and kill me in my sleep.”</p>
<p>Technoblade snorted, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t do that.”</p>
<p>“You laugh, but you nearly took my head off two weeks ago during the cow incident.” </p>
<p>Technoblade cringed, looking down at his hands. He really didn’t want to kill Phil by accident, seeing as the only reason he was alive and well and comfortable and healthy was because of him. So, learning to fight might be the least he could do to help. </p>
<p>So he agreed.</p>
<p>They started against armor stands, Phil teaching Technoblade how to properly hold his sword to get the most power as well as the easiest defense. Phil taught him how to control his body perfectly, listening to his brain more than his gut instincts. They drilled for hours on end, spending weeks and weeks until his sparring stance was reflex and until he could mirror and defend against the movements Phil simply named. His rage became easier to control, his “bloodlust” being manually pushed to the back of his mind. Phil pushed him hard, making him re-do combinations of choreography until he could replicate them perfectly without examples. </p>
<p>Of course, he still had bad days. One of these days ended in a very worn out Technoblade kneeling in the middle of the clearing the two of them practiced in, surrounded by piles of wood from devastated armor stands. Phil stood over him, both their wooden swords in hand. </p>
<p>“I’m going to leave you out here alone for a moment, Technoblade.” Phil said, more serious than he’d ever been in their lessons before. Technoblade winced, the full name tugging at his heart. “You need to reel it in. This,” he said, gesturing around them, “is exactly why we’re still using wooden weapons. You can clean this up yourself when you’ve calmed down.”</p>
<p>Technoblade blinked at the ground, panting. He squeezed his eyes shut, spots dancing behind his eyelids. He took a few deep breaths, repeating calm words and phrases in his head, pushing the not-so-little voice back to it’s quiet place in his head. It screamed at him to <em> fight, run, kill, tear, rip, win. </em>It screamed to survive. He heard Phil’s footsteps as they grew quieter and let out a silent sob, curling in on himself. He reminded the voice that he wasn’t in that sweltering hellscape anymore. There was no need to fight to kill. There was no risk in fighting. Phil wouldn’t hurt him. </p>
<p><em> He wouldn’t get the chance </em>. </p>
<p>No, Phil wouldn’t. Out of the goodness in the man’s heart. He’d offered to teach Technoblade to <em> help </em>him. There was no malicious intent. There probably wasn’t even a malicious bone in Phil’s body. He’d be fine. He needed to get the rage under control. But he’d be fine.</p>
<p>Eventually.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>--</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As Technoblade grew up, he and Phil only grew closer. Once Technoblade had his bloodlust under control enough where he knew he wasn’t going to snap in public (which took about a year after they’d left the Nether together), they started going on outings. They'd go to town and to the market as father and son, Phil’s acquaintances in town realizing that not only had Phil returned for what seemed to be decades, he had a strange-looking, very scarred adopted son who never spoke. Phil introduced the boy as his son, excluding the “adopted” bit, and never elaborated past that. He never said he’d found him alone in the Nether, he never commented on his appearance, and he never answered any personal questions the townspeople had. </p>
<p>Technoblade held himself high, changing his clothing style to that of a monarch as he grew. Phil never asked him to explain why; he simply went along with Technoblade’s request for white shirts (with ruffles. Pirate-esque shirts.) and tight black pants and tall, slightly heeled boots. He had plenty of gold chains and jewelry to adorn himself with as well and Technoblade could tell that Phil had absolutely no idea why he did it, but the fact that he just went along with it was reassuring. He never wore the gold crowns in public, thinking it <em> maybe </em> was a little bit too far for the rural town the two of them resided in. He did wear the red cloak in the colder months, though, just to rub it in that he was leagues above the simpletons of their little village. </p>
<p>By the time Technoblade was old enough to be considered a man, he had forgotten what it was like to be alone. He avoided the Nether subconsciously, declining every time Phil asked if he wanted to come on a resource-gathering trip. He just wasn’t <em> quite </em> ready to go back there. He had a comfortable life. He had his own job with the town’s blacksmith; he was used to the heat and with metal-work already, so he’d been an easy hire. He loved his life. He still had that voice in his head every so often, trying to convince him to just… snap the neck of whoever he was around at the time. He never listened. </p>
<p>His least favorite day of his village years came soon after.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But that’s a day best told by someone else.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>criticism is welcomed if youre not just telling me i suck ass<br/>hello to everyone here from tiktok too</p></blockquote></div></div>
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